Okay, look: Where the Wild Things Are was a staple of my childhood as I’m sure it was for thousands of children born over the past four decades. And also, I like Spike Jonze. He’s visually innovative and a good storyteller.

But here’s what gets me: for a movie about the timeless wonder of childhood, Warner Brothers is sure marketing this hard to the alterna-hipster-yuppie-NPR-Brooklyn-Silver Lake set. The Dave Eggers script, the Karen-O soundtrack, the pop-up store, and now this. Fashion collaborations with Opening Ceremony

I don’t mind commodification of childhood favorites so long as they are up-front about their intentions (read: Transformers, the last Indiana Jones, etc.), but Where the Wild Things Are bills itself as something slightly different. It promises a certain degree of innocence, imagination and nostalgia for, you know, the kid in all of us. But then it delivers clever marketing tie-ins. It’s sort of the philosophical equivalent of hitting you up for change while you’re lost.

I know Hollywood needs to protect that investment, and I if guess Maurice Sendak feels okay about it I shouldn’t complain. But still. Selling $900 parkas on the back of my childhood leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.